It was a “standard” book and must therefore be about something she ought to know something about if she were to hold her own in this North London world. There had been no “standard” books at school and the word offended her. It suggested fixed agreement about the things people ought to know and that she felt sure must be wrong, and not only wrong but “common” ... standard readers ... standard pianoforte tutors. She had learned to read in “Reading without Tears,” and gone on to “Classical Poems and Prose for the Young,” her arithmetic book instead of being a thin cold paper-covered thing called Standard I, had been a pleasant green volume called “Barnard Smith,” that began at the beginning and went on to compound fractions and stocks. There was no Morris’s Grammar at Banbury Park, no Wetherell or English Accidence, no bits from “Piers Plowman” and pages of scraps of words with the way they changed in different languages and quotations, just sentences that had made her long for more ... “up-clomb” ... “the mist up-clomb.” She opened “Bell’s Standard Elocutionist” apprehensively, her mind working on possible meanings for elocutionist. She thought of ventriloquist and wondered dismally whether it was a book of conjuring tricks. It was poems, poems and prose, all mixed up together anyhow. The room was very still, the girls all sitting reading with their backs to the table so that nobody “poked.” She could not go on vaguely fluttering pages, so she read a solid-looking poem that was not divided up into verses. “Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond Emperor of Allemaine, Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John’s eve, at vespers, proudly sat And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.” Should she go on? It was like the pieces in Scott’s novels, the best bits, before the characters began to talk.